


Men, Not Books

by KellynKupcake



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Dark Past, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Men Crying, Mentions of Prostitution, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29398299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KellynKupcake/pseuds/KellynKupcake
Summary: Abigail can read John like an open book. But on this particular night there is something in his eyes that she can't understand and it scares her.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	Men, Not Books

**Author's Note:**

> Basically just an excuse to get all my feels about John being emotionally fragile but never showing it, out on paper. This story is separate to all of my other John/Abi works. I consider the characters in this story to probably be as close to canon as I've ever written. So enjoy!

Abigail Roberts could not read.

It was a well-known fact that was established early on in her time with the Van der Linde gang.

Letters and symbols bounced around the page in front of her eyes and no amount of tutelage had ever improved her grasp.

She had learned to live with it. Deciding that she didn’t need to know what the words said as long as she could look through the pictures.

The books that had pictures anyway.

She often borrowed books from Hosea. Flipping through them and spending ages staring at the pages despite not understanding them. It was a nice distraction from the goings on of the camp.

Abigail sighed languidly, leaning back against the wall atop her bed at Shady Belle. The jagged hole in the wall behind her snatching at the hair of her bun and causing her to growl in protest.

She placed the book she had been looking at on the bed beside her and twisted awkwardly to untangle herself from the broken wood. Sighing in exasperation as she removed the ribbon holding her hair in place and let it fall around her shoulders.

She raked her fingers through is carefully, trying to remove the knots without needing to get up and find a brush.

Jack was sleeping peacefully on the floor beside her and she’d prefer not to disturb him if she could help it.

She felt her ears prick as footsteps on the stairs caught her attention. Heavy boots that she knew belonged to one of the three men sleeping in the top story of the old house alongside her.

She knew it was John from the sound of his footsteps. Spurs jiggling as he stepped hard against the floor without care for anyone that might be sleeping below.

Dutch had a strong gate and Arthur was a bulky man that found it hard to be quiet. But no one else walked quite like John. The way he put his hips into his stride. Feet landing purposefully but barely picking up again as his heel scraped each stair with his step.

For a fleeting moment she thought about feigning sleep. Not really in the mood to speak with him and unable to put her finger on why.

She decided against it. Instead brushing out the crinkles in her nightshirt before pulling her hair back into a loose pony tail and waiting patiently for John’s heavy steps to make their way passed her. The old door creaking as he pushed it opened, stepping inside and catching her eye as she looked to him with disinterest.

He stared at her for a second, seeming shocked to find her there.

Abigail frowned at the look on his face. He should not have been surprised to find her in bed at this hour.

Something was wrong.

She opened her mouth to speak and was alarmed when he started to move towards her. Stepping carefully over Jack and settling himself on the edge of the bed in front of her.

He stared at the hem of her nightshirt, not making eye contact as Abigail pushed herself into her knees and inched towards him.

Frightened.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, concern in her tone at the look in his eyes.

He was silent. Her anxiety increasing exponentially with every second of silence.

John slowly reached out, taking her hand in his and resting them together in her lap without speaking. Abigail swallowed audibly, her frayed nerves screaming for him to talk.

“John?” She asked eventually, urgent. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He answered with a small shrug, exhaling shakily as he continued to stare at the loose threads on the hem of her shirt.

The furrow of Abigail’s brows deepened as she squeezed his hand tightly in hers and waited for him to say more. Her heartrate dropping slightly as she let go of her breath.

No one was dead at least.

She realised as she looked him up and down. John was a man of few words. He was straightforward when it came to giving bad news. Short and to the point. No dancing around the truth if he knew it to be absolutely correct.

Still, she was concerned.

It wasn’t like him to want to be this close to her. Usually, he could barely stand the sight of her. It was only recently that he had moved herself and Jack back into his living quarters and even then, they hardly said a word to one another.

“What’s wrong?” She asked again, softer. Her free hand coming up to tenderly push the messy hair out of his face. He didn’t flinch away as she expected him to. Her tender touch rousing something inside him as he leaned toward it with enthusiasm.

She let her hand fall to his forehead, subconsciously feeling for a fever as he rested against her palm.

Perhaps he wasn’t feeling well.

He wasn’t usually one to show his vulnerability if he could help it. But he did have a certain childish quality to him when he’d been struck down by sickness. 

He didn’t feel any warmer than normal.

Slowly she removed her touch and let her hand fall back to her lap. Surprised when John leant forwards. Resting his forehead on her shoulder and sighing deeply as he closed his eyes.

Abigail wasn’t sure what to do. He hadn’t embraced her in months. Not that she’d have let him if he’d tried. She was still pissed off about being treated like a burden.

“John?” She asked in quiet exasperation as he changed his position to nuzzle at her neck. “What is this?” She asked, tone gentle as he paused his ministrations and she felt him sigh deeply against her pulse point.

“I don’t know.” He whispered, his free hand slowly slipping around her waist as he inched closer once more. “I don’t know…” He repeated softly, eyelashes fluttering against her jawline as he inhaled sharply.

He let go of her hand suddenly and she felt it brush past her cheek before it joined his other hand, locking her into a hug just below her chest. He buried his face in her shoulder abruptly, eyes closed against the fabric.

John sniffed softly, a sound she had heard a thousand times before but never truly in this context. She licked her lips, tongue sucking silently on her teeth before she dared to glance to her side.

She couldn’t see much of John from her angle. A dirty mop of black hair obscured her vision. Hiding his face from her and rendering her useless at understanding what exactly was going through his mind.

Abigail may not be able to read literature, but she could read John like the back of her hand. He had always been an open book to her. Showing what he was thinking plainly on his face without ever having to speak. Keeping his emotions locked up deep inside despite the situation. Fearing if people found out that he felt things, he would be labelled weak.

But that had never stopped her from understanding. The way his eyes sparkled when he knew he was about to best someone or the way his lips quirked ever so lightly when he thought someone was being an idiot. A simple scrunch of the nose telling her his real feelings on the food he was consuming.

She could read his mood from across the camp if she had to. Knowing full well exactly how he was going to respond at any given moment by the different ways he cocked his brows.

But this was unique. Something was off and it scared her that she couldn’t read him immediately when he’d entered the room. The look in his eyes was close to fear. Hence her strong reaction to his silence.

She’d seen true fear in him once before. As he’d been searching for Jack at Clemen’s Point. He had told her he was sure it was fine. The panic in his eyes screaming to her that he didn’t believe that. The way his lips had been a thin line before he’d told her that they would find him. Eyes flicking ever so briefly out over the miles of lake they were camped next to.

The small swallow that he had thought he’d concealed. The way his Adam’s apple bobbed ever so slightly as he’d taken a moment to breathe.

The shake in his exhale.

She had known from the second she’d seen his face that he believed the boy was dead.

Drowned or taken by coyotes.

He had never needed to speak a word to strike such white-hot terror into her heart.

Abigail was brought back to reality abruptly as John’s hand curled in her shirt. His knuckles scraping lightly against the small of her back as he pulled the fabric taught. Unmoving otherwise and causing another thorn of worry to settle in the pit of her stomach.

It hadn’t been fear that she’d seen in his eyes. But something close to fear.

Perhaps sadness. She mused as she moved her hands to stroke lightly up and down his sides.

He shifted under her touch, breath hitching momentarily before he managed to return to a normal rhythm.

Abigail smiled to herself, knowing he could not see. She knew _that_ sound well, although it had been a long time since she had heard it.

John always had some measure of sadness in his eyes. It was the first thing she’d noticed about him when they’d met. The way he looked at her, with wide, expressive eyes filled with sadness. He reminded her of a kicked pup.

At the time she’d found it endearing.

But she had soon learned where all that sadness had stemmed from. Mostly filled in by other camp members and a little from John himself after a few drinks. He’d had it rough, same as her. But he never could quite shake the sorrow that was tied to abusive childhood like she’d managed to. It followed him into adulthood and lorded over every happy moment of his life.

He never spoke of it. Never intentionally brought attention to the way he felt.

He had his feelings under lock and key. Not even the drink could fully open him up to his grief.

Abigail’s hands wandered slowly up his sides and around to his back. Petting him softly with delicate strokes up and down his spine and around his shoulder blades.

She felt him loosen under her touch. Not realising how ridged he had previously been as she felt him start to sink lower. Melting against her like a candy on a hot day.

“You okay?” She asked, deciding to try one more time to gently prod it out of him. She felt him shrug once more and she resigned herself to never knowing what had gotten into him. Leaning her head against his head perched on her shoulder, as she heard him whisper his response.

“Lodnhly.” He mumbled, barely a word as she frowned, trying to understand what he’d said.

“What?” She asked candidly, hands pausing as she felt him sigh heavily under them. This time speaking a little louder as he answered.

“Just… Lonely.” He said quietly, sounding strained by the admission.

“Oh…” Abigail breathed softly. Unsure what to do with the information she had so desperately wanted. John didn’t seem like the kind of man to feel lonesome. Despite his sad eyes he spent most of his time laughing by the fire with the other men in camp. Always heavy on the drink as he stumbled back to his bedroll at some ungodly hour.

She felt John begin to tense again in her arms and felt she needed to say something more. Opening her mouth to speak but closing it again after a while when she realised that for the first time in a long while, he had stumped her.

She’d truly had no idea what he’d been feeling and if she’d had to guess, she would have even put constipated several spaces above lonely.

John let go of her shirt abruptly, pulling away and breaking out of her arms with ease as he shuffled slightly away so they were completely separate once more. Head bowed as he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and waited for her to speak.

He had never opened himself up to her like that in his life. Never opened up to anyone like that at all, and he knew that she was acutely aware of that fact.

He twisted his hands against the mattress, feeling shame bubbling up inside of him as Abigail continued to stay silent. He’d considered that she might not know what to say and he’d been prepared to reassure her that she didn’t need to say anything. Nothing she could say would make him feel better anyway.

But in the moment he felt sick at the thought of her not replying. Both sitting there in silence until one of them plucked up the courage to leave the situation. He needed her to speak. He was desperate for her to say something.

_Anything._

His heart raced.

_Just speak._

He silently begged her, heart in his throat.

“Why?” Abigail asked clumsily, making him exhale the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding.

She watched nervously as he tensed at the question. Seeming to relax a little after a moment. His hands fisting in the bedsheets loosened while her own wrang nervously in her lap.

“I don’t know.” He answered dishonestly. Feeling a lump in his throat that impeded his ability to speak evenly. He had his reasons for the way he felt. But she would never understand them.

Abigail nodded, more to herself than John as he was not looking at her. His long hair still obscuring his face from his place in front of her.

She certainly knew what it was like to feel lonely in life. She felt it more often than not before she’d joined the gang. But since finding them it was few and far between. She still had her bad days, where she felt as though she didn’t fit in. Watching from across the camp as the other women giggled and gossiped. It irritated her to know she would never truly be one of them. She wasn’t a contributing member of the gang. Not in the same way they were. Sure she could cook, sew and occasionally she was asked to do the laundry. But she didn’t run cons or scout out for intel like they did. She wasn’t one of them. She was just John’s wife.

“Well…” Abigail said slowly, unsure if relating to John’s plight would help or hinder their conversation. “I know a thing or two about feeling that way.”

John sniffed softly, not saying anything as he slowly lifted his head to look at her for the first time since he had entered the room.

Abigail held back a gasp. Unable to stop the shock from registered on her face as her eyes flicked over his tear-stained cheeks. She hadn’t realised he’d been crying. For all the times she’d given him a once over and knew exactly what he was feeling, she couldn’t believe she’d been so slack as to miss something as significant as this when it was right in front of her.

She tore her eyes away from him, hand grabbing at the shoulder of her shirt as she pulled it taught and inspected the place where he’d laid his head. The fabric was damp and she was stunned by the realisation. He had been so silent. Showing emotion she had never seen in him right by her face without her even noticing.

She felt sick at the thought. Wondering now if perhaps she _had_ seen him this vulnerable in the past and didn’t recognise it.

Arthur had once told her that John never cried.

Something she found hard to believe. Everyone cried. It was a fact of life. But as the years rolled on and her time with John stretched farther than any other significant relationship she’d ever had she had started to wonder if Arthur was right.

‘If he did, you would never know about it’.

Arthur had stated cryptically.

The words mulling over in Abigail’s mind for years to come. Every time she was sure this would be the moment John finally broke his stoic exterior she was once again proven wrong.

The words echoed in her mind now as she looked over the usually aloof man before her. The pain in his tired eyes spread bare for her to see.

_Only her._

She realised as she inched towards him once more. Her hand finding his thigh and squeezing it gently as he collapsed against her rather suddenly. He laid against her chest, his shoulder resting just under her bosom. He rubbed his cheek against her breasts before burying his face in them. His arms crossing over his own chest as hers wrapped around his shoulders to hold him tight against her.

“John…” She whispered breathily. Burning behind her eyes making her blink rapidly as she struggled to hold back her own tears.

He didn’t respond, his uneven breathing the only sign that there was even anything wrong.

A disinterested onlooker would think him asleep in his wife’s embrace.

She supposed that is what he wanted.

“It’s alright…” She cooed, unable to form any other words as her mind raced around this new development.

How many times in the past had he silently wept without her knowledge? Even now, sharing the same room; they didn’t share a bed. John refused, letting her have the mattress while he broke his back on the hardwood floor.

She couldn’t tell if he was still crying. The silence in the room was deafening despite the people flittering through the halls downstairs and the lively party happening at the fire outside. Every now and then John would take a laboured breath and she would run a hand through his hair, stroking him as if she were calming an animal.

Abigail was always a mess when she cried. Loud, wracking sobs that tore at her throat and ripped her breath from her lungs. There wasn’t a hankie large enough to contain the fluids that ran down her face as she howled. Everyone knew when Abigail was crying. There wasn’t a sole within 50ft the didn’t feel her pain as well.

But John…

“Hey?” She asked quietly, her voice broken despite managing to compose herself against her own tears. “Hey?” She asked again, gently tugging at John’s hair until he finally pulled his face away from her chest and looked up at her with red rimmed eyes. “It’s okay.” She assured, cupping his cheek with her hand and using her thumb to swipe away fresh tears.

She leaned down slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wanted to before gently placing a chaste kiss on his cracked lips. He didn’t kiss back, feeling too overwhelmed to respond as she pulled away and smiled at him sadly.

She didn’t take it to heart. She hadn’t really intended anything but comfort with her kiss, but she also understood her own tendency to turn things sexual when she was uncomfortable. Kissing away pain instead of talking it out. Fucking to avoid an awkward conversation.

It was a short-coming of her own that she knew she needed to fix. He needed more from her right now than sex.

John stared at her with heavy lidded eyes. Blinking tiredly before settling himself back against her chest. This time just resting his cheek against her breast and staring at the wall in front of him as he tried to sort out what he was feeling.

“Fuck.” He whispered, voice croaky. He trembled slightly as he pushed himself away from her. Breaking out of her arms again and sitting up on his own once more. His hands finding his face as he rested it in his palms. “Fuck…” He exhaled shakily. Unable to form a coherent thought as the reality of exposing himself to her came crashing down on him.

He had needed the comfort.

Had needed to be held.

There was a large part of him that wished he was still being held. Not wanting to give up the warmth. The all-encompassing sense of calm he felt in her arms.

The safety.

But he had already shown too much of himself and right now he felt a suffocating need to run. To lock up whatever it was that he was feeling and get the fuck away from anyone that had seen him unmasked.

Abigail could sense his impending departure. Feeling it necessary to say something meaningful and assuring him that she didn’t judge him for his emotions.

“Anyway…” John said softly, swallowing hard as he pulled his face from his hands and wiped the tears from his chin with his palm. “I should…” He mumbled, trailing off as he gestured at his bedroll across the room.

“Stay.” Abigail said suddenly, her hand shooting out to hold him in place as he made to stand. He looked at her quizzically. Eyes flicking between her and his bed. His tongue swiped hesitantly over his dry lips as he thought. Weighing the options in front of him and landing at a decision with ease.

“Okay…” He said timidly. Averting his eyes and staring at their joined hands. Maybe just this once he could ignore the screaming in the back of his mind and let himself be soothed.

John wondered absently if she could read his mind. He never had understood how she managed to know just what he was thinking at any given time. Always ready with a counter to his argument or a consoling word on a subject he hadn’t even broached yet.

He was in awe of her ability to understand just what he needed. Irritated at the fact that mostly she ignored it. Knowing full well he wanted to be left alone but following him around regardless and nagging him to no end.

But comforted by the fact that she seemed to care enough to put in the effort of knowing him.

He could not really say the same of anyone else. His own Father had neglected him for years before the old bastard had gotten himself killed. The women at the orphanage he had been moved to shortly after that had been no kinder. Dismissive and noncommittal when it came to calming his anxieties. Lying to his face and repeating the same mantra of ‘You’ll find a family soon’.

After that he had been alone again. Escaping the orphanage and scavenging to survive. He had found out quickly what exactly happened to whiny little street kids that couldn’t hide their sorrows.

Abigail slid herself back against wall of the room, wincing at the feel of her ponytail catching on the broken wood once more. She ignored it, pulling John’s hand as she moved and encouraging him to join her. He followed without thinking about it. Too busy in his past to analyse what was happening in front of his eyes.

Abigail pulled her hair from the wall sharply, deciding it might be nicer to lie down. She slipped herself down and underneath the covers. Waiting for a long second before pulling him to her when she realised he wasn’t going to move on his own accord. His glazed over eyes told her he was stuck somewhere in the past and what he needed from her right now was silence so he could find his way back.

She moved the covers out of the way as he moved to lie against her side. One strong arm being slung over her belly as he nuzzled into her shoulder. She smiled sadly, holding out her arm so he could rest on it. His head fitting snuggly into the crook of her arm as she brushed her soft fingers against his wet cheek.

John remembered his first week with the gang vividly. He had been quietly terrified of these huge brawny men that had rescued him from certain death. Knowing too well at the age of 12 that sometimes people helped you not because they were good people but because you could be of use to them.

He had wondered what they wanted with a scrawny thing like himself. Too small and weak to fight and too big and pigheaded to be worth feeding if he could not be of real use.

Dutch had instilled in him early on that his place in the gang was conditional. He’d never said the words outright, but John had gotten the hint fast when he’s refused to do a ‘women’s chore’ and been very passively threatened with eviction.

‘Well son, I’m just not sure there’ll be enough food for you here if the men don’t have clean clothes by sundown. You may have to find other arrangements that better suit your leisurely lifestyle.’

The words had played over and over in his head for the last 15 years. Every time he found himself feeling that something was unfair. He had remembered those words and the way Dutch had spoken them. Something about that sentence not sitting right with him even now. The gentle reminder that he was expendable.

It Stung.

It had kept him quiet for almost as long as he could remember now. Even as a fully fledged adult that had earned his place in the gang by sheer effort and determination. Behind every compliment or kind word he could feel that lingering threat that if he did not continue to live up to Dutch’s standards he would be out before he could blink.

John inhaled sharply, feeling a sting in the corner of his eyes and closing them against it. He had been warned early on to hide his weakness. His little body sometimes unable to contain the big emotions that came from living in a word that didn’t want him.

He hadn’t needed to be told twice. Just the look in the eyes of the other men as he laid himself bare was enough to shut himself off from ever speaking about his misery again. Bessie had tried to console him but he had been too wary of her intensions to let her.

Terrified that she was just an agent of Dutch. Tasked with finding out his deepest concerns and reporting back to him with how and why John should be punished or evicted.

He regretted that a lot now. Knowing the kind of person she had turned out to be. So kind and full of affection.

He wished now, day in and day out that he had someone he could confide in. Someone that wouldn’t look at him with pity or contempt but the kind of compassion and understanding that Bessie had offered and he had shirked.

He had never pegged Abigail to be that person. Always assuming from her icy demeanour that she would be as cold as the other men. Disgusted even by his lack of self-control.

This wasn’t the first time he’d come to her, pleading for reassurance. But he doubted she knew that as she moved her hand softly from his cheek to drag her sharp nails over his scalp. Making him shiver.

He had tried a few times before. Most recently when they’d been settled at Horseshoe overlook. His insecurities niggling at him after seeing the fresh scars on his face for the first time. Anxiety nipping at the back of his mind until the gentle mumbles of self-doubt and loathing turned to angry shouting that he couldn’t ignore any longer.

He had gone to her in her lean-to. Sitting beside her without speaking and giving her a chance to ask since she alleged to know him so well.

She had not.

Arguing with him instead about his involvement with Jack. As if he needed another reminder of his dubious paternity at such a fragile time in his life.

He silently hoped that the kid wasn’t his anyway. It was the one kindness he could wish on the boy. To not grow up to be the spitting image of his own disgusting face.

He had felt such hatred for her in that moment. Either she didn’t know him as well as she claimed to or she did and she’d ignored his silent pleas for comfort.

He wasn’t sure what was worse.

He had silenced her with a rough kiss that quickly turned into heated touching. Their bodies closer than they had been in months. Arousal getting the best of them both as they rutted together urgently before Abigail had come to her senses and gently pushed him away. Staring into his expressive eyes for a long while before taking his hand and leading him away from all the prying eyes and making him feel better in the only way she really knew how.

The best sex John had ever had, lasting approximately two minutes and finishing as unceremoniously as it had begun in the scrub just shy of Pearson’s wagon.

They hadn’t spoken of it again. Straightening their clothes and parting ways with uneven breaths and ruffled hair.

He hadn’t tried to speak to her about his insecurities again after that. Feeling somewhat consoled by the fact that she’d still found him attractive enough to fuck.

Not that he was sure that meant too much in the grand scheme of things considering her past. She had spent a lot nights with a lot of men considerably uglier than John.

But it comforted him none the less.

John opened his eyes slowly, looking up to her and catching her eyeing him before she looked away quickly. Staring at the ceiling as she petted him distractedly.

“You can come to me you know?” She asked quietly, not looking away from the ceiling as she spoke. He wondered if that was because she felt the need to give him privacy in his response or because she couldn’t stand the sight of him.

He tensed his jaw as he thought. Gritting his teeth together tightly before finally responding.

“Hmm.” He hummed in a noncommittal way. His response able to be taken as either a yay or nay depending on the other person’s perspective.

“When you’re… lonely… I mean.” Abigail hesitated, still staring above her with neutral features.

John didn’t reply, knowing full well that she was wrong but unable to voice that in the moment. Afraid of losing his place by her side as he closed his eyes again and breathed in her sumptuous scent.

He hadn’t intended to come to her in the first place. Walking quickly away from the fire; his back against some playful ribbing from the other men. He couldn’t even remember what it had been about. The teasing hadn’t been what had bothered him anyway. It was the way that Arthur had looked at him when he had opened his mouth to speak that had tripped him up. Made him choke on his words and look like a fumbling idiot in front of the others before he exited the conversation in an effort save what was left of his dignity.

They used to be so damn close.

Closer to brothers than friends. A relationship John cherished above all others he had experienced in his life.

Until he had left and fucked it all up.

He’d known Arthur would be pissed off at him. But to be honest he’d never imagined that he would still be filled with such animosity toward him a whole two years later.

Arthur loathed him. Barely tolerated his presence for years now. It was only just recently that he felt maybe they were starting to reconcile.

But then the other man had looked to him with such disdain. A piercing glare that radiated revulsion that stemmed from his very core.

He’d never really regained his friendship with anyone in the gang and he’d struggled to get to know the newer members.

His saving grace was his relationship with Abigail but even that had been in tatters for longer than it had ever been good.

He was so isolated.

Alone.

In a living space that consisted of over twenty people. Most nights he felt as though he may as well be sitting at an empty fire pit by his lonesome.

Sipping turning in to swigging as he relied on alcohol to dull the pain and loosen his tongue. Making him funny. Turning the miserable cynic that he was into a desirable companion.

John had stared back at Arthur after he had spoken. The other men already beginning to chuckle at his expense while his brother simply smirked at the fractured look on his face. Content with the fact he had made John Marston look as stupid as he always liked to say he was.

It was such a small gesture. But the straw that broke the camel’s back was always light and airy.

John couldn’t take it anymore. His heart breaking as he walked away from the fire to find a place to hide.

He had assumed Abigail would be asleep due to the late hour. Planning to sneak in and out of their room without detection. Grabbing some whiskey from his private stash and taking it somewhere more secluded to reflect on why exactly he felt the way he did.

But he had been wrong. Walking straight in and making eye contact with her before he could retreat. She’d known something was wrong immediately, he could tell. So he’d swallowed his pride and taken the opportunity to try one last time to help her understand him fully. That one small part of himself that she didn’t already just know like she seemed to with all the rest of him.

He wasn’t sure exactly if he was successful or not. Perhaps her understanding and comfort was conditional as everything seemed to be in this world.

Maybe when they awoke in the morning, she would physically push him away as she had so many times before.

Or perhaps he was the one that would push her.

Embarrassment settling in and causing him to withdraw without a word before she awakened. Never speaking of his vulnerability again. At least until the next time unkind words seeped their way into his heart. Blackening it a little bit with every stab.

Abigail let her eyes flutter closed. Her hand falling to rest gently against John’s temple as she took a deep calming breath. He subconsciously followed her lead, his own breathing evening out as he matched her pace. Feeling the rise and fall of her belly under his arm.

He felt calm.

_Peaceful._

He realised as he lamented the fact that it would end eventually.

Never one to enjoy a moment as it was happening. Always looking to the future and bemoaning the fact that it would end.

He’d missed her. He had realised it months ago. The bickering before Blackwater had been suffocating to not just the two of them but Jack and the other gang members as well.

But when he’d been up on that mountain, freezing half to death and in more pain than he’d imagined possible he’d longed for her. Wanting nothing more than to be rescued and returned to her arms but knowing deep down that even if he was rescued, he would be returned to the cold embrace of a lonely bed.

Maybe now things would be different.

He dared to hope. Squeezing her waist with a trembling hand as he nuzzled closer to her. Abigail returning the hug without contention.

“I love you.” John finally managed to speak. The words grinding against his throat as he fought to force them out.

Abigail startled as he spoke, turning to him and frowning in question as if she wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly.

Their noses rubbed together lightly as she looked into his eyes. A smile spreading across her gorgeous features as she read the look in his eyes.

“I love you too, you silly man.” She whispered, leaning in once more to kiss him softly. This time he kissed back, hand curling in her nightshirt as things began to get heated.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked this one! I would love to hear if you did. There's not many John/Abi shippers out there anymore so it's always amazing to hear from the people that take the time to read my works of them. ❤ 
> 
> Also for those asking, I'm still working on The Reflections series.


End file.
